


the horrors i promised you i'd bring

by neon_air



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Brotherly Love, Crying, Gen, Ghost TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Ghost Wilbur Soot, Hopeful Ending, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, No beat we die like men, Not the actual people, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, One Shot, Protective Wilbur Soot, Reunions, Short One Shot, Spoilers, To Reiterate, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, c!dream is mentioned, its just v relevant to the plot, not the real people, spoilers for the march 1st stream, the major character death isnt described in detail, this is about the smp characters, this is all about the smp characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29807247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neon_air/pseuds/neon_air
Summary: SPOILERS FOR MARCH 1ST STREAMBrothers reunite in the afterlife, hoping to find a kinder world than the one they've left behind.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 4
Kudos: 166





	the horrors i promised you i'd bring

**Author's Note:**

> hello, this is my first dream smp fic and it was written today on my phone's notes app while my neighborhood had no power or heat. make of that what you will. 
> 
> rip to tommy, i really hope they bring him back but i had this in mind while we wait to see what happens, so here you go

Tommy doesn’t know where he is.

He opens his eyes and doesn’t know where he is.

It’s dark, which is the first thing he notices. He’s on his back and the sky above him is dark. It doesn’t even look like a sky at all. It’s just... empty.

He blinks and sits up, using his arms to push himself. There is a dull ache. Everywhere, he realizes when he tries to pin it down. Everything aches but it is distant, like a dream he can’t recall.

As he comes to stand, the second thing he notices is the ground. It’s solid of course but see-through like glass. It flows and ripples like water. He stares, tempted to reach out and see if he could drink it. Despite the aches, despite his mind telling him to drink, he doesn’t feel particularly thirsty.

In fact, he doesn’t feel hungry either. Like the aches, it’s distant, far away, and just out of reach. Tommy figures that probably isn’t a good thing.

The third thing he notices is how cold it is.

If the hunger and thirst are too far away to feel, then the coldness invades the empty space left in their absences.

It presses up against his senses and worms its way towards any available patch of skin. It creeps up his back and sinks into his bones. It’s _everywhere_ and it hurts but Tommy isn’t shaking. It’s freezing and Tommy isn’t shaking.

He doesn’t think that’s a good thing either.

He turns, looking around at the space around him. It seems to stretch on forever, no visible structures or altering environments. It’s flat and lifeless; it’s _empty_.

He can’t move past that, how empty it is. He’s so used to the business of L’manberg. The buildings that once stood tall, hours of work and dedication towering proudly above them. The people, too, bustling around and chattering all the while. Even underground in Pogtopia, even in exile, there was something, someone to bring life to the environment around them. This, this is just emptiness, for as far as the eye could see. It’s empty and dark and cold and quiet. It’s so quiet, it’s dead silent. Tommy doesn’t think he can hear his own heartbeat here.

He doesn’t know what to do. He has no idea where he is, how long he’s been here, or how to get out. No plan, no resources, nothing.

Tommy holds his breath, willing himself not to panic. It wouldn’t help, even though it’s the only thing he can think to do right now.

 _Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic_ , he thinks feverishly to himself, spinning in circles, desperate to find anything or use.

Dizzy now, Tommy breathes out shakily and raises his hand to his head.

The last thing he notices is the blood.

Hand on his head, his fingers graze something thick and liquid. What surprises him most is that it’s warm.

Pulling his hand away, when he’s able to see it fully, his fingers are covered in a blue liquid.

Eyebrows furrowed together, he stares. Blue, why is it blue, what the hell even is it—

_“Sam, let me out, I don’t like this...”_

_“I don’t think this revival book is real.”_

_“Wait, no, stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop it, STOP—!”_

...Tommy was shaking now.

His hand, still held out in front of him, is trembling.

He...

He is d—

“Tommy?”

Tommy feels his heart drop to his stomach.

With his vision glazed over, hand covered in blue, he turns around.

Standing in front of him, dressed as he was the last time Tommy saw him before the festival, with a blue-coated slash through his shirt, is Wilbur.

Tommy stares, and Wilbur stares back.

“Wilbur?” he croaks out. He gulps. “Where are we?”

He already knows.

Wilbur doesn’t respond. He stares and then, slowly, frantically, begins to shake his head.

“You...” he whispers, then again, louder, “You... can’t be here. You can’t be here.”

Tommy can’t bring himself to respond.

“You...” Wilbur’s breathing grows heavy, hand coming up to clutch his head. “Why are you here? Why are you here, Tommy? You-You said you were going to be careful. You—Why are you _here_?!”

Tommy can’t move.

Wilbur can and does; he stalks forward and comes to grip Tommy’s shoulder tightly. “Why are you here?” he shouts, and it’s only now that Tommy sees that his eyes are completely glazed over in milky white. “Why are you here? You can’t be here, you can’t. You were supposed to be fine! You were fine! Why are you here!” A vicious snarl reaches Wilbur’s lips. “How are you here? What the hell happened? Why are you—why—fucking answer me, Tommy!”

Tommy darts forwards and clings to Wilbur.

It all comes crashing down.

Tommy is dead. Dream killed him.

Tommy is dead. Wilbur is here and he can touch him.

Tommy is dead.

Wilbur pants for a moment before his arms come to wrap around Tommy. His embrace is tight, so much it almost hurts, and all Tommy can do it cling and shake. He doesn’t dare pull away. He doesn’t care that Wilbur is cold too.

Wilbur moves his hand to cradle the back of Tommy’s head, lets out a sharp, frustrated keen, and manages to say, “Tommy, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, blocking out the world and the emptiness and the fear, and focuses on the only thing that matters: his brother’s arms around him.

“I’m so sorry,” Wilbur whispers, grip never faltering. “I’m so sorry.”

“He got me,” Tommy gasps out. “He got me, Wilbur.”

If possible, Wilbur’s grip tightens.

“You aren’t supposed to be here, goddamnit. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Tommy says, pressing his face into his brother’s chest, ignoring the wet patches growing from where his eyes meet the fabric. He also ignores the blue slash.

Wilbur squeezes him and Tommy knows he wants to rebuke him. Tommy only burrows in closer, not giving him the chance.

Tommy doesn’t know how long they stay there. By the time Tommy can even consider pulling away, they’ve moved to the ground, still intertwined in each others’ embrace. He feels tired and stretched out, like he hasn’t slept in days.

Tommy clears his throat, wincing. “What now?” he whispers, fiddling with one of the tears in Wilbur’s coat.

Wilbur hums but doesn’t speak. After a moment, he says, “You can rest. It’s what I’ve been doing. Or trying to at least.”

Rest. Tommy isn’t sure he knows how to.

Wilbur, the stupid probable mindreader, huffs a laugh, one so familiar it hurts, and adds, “It’s daunting, I know.”

“Maybe for you, you little bitch,” Tommy grumbles, ignoring Wilbur’s responding snort. “I could sleep for a million years right now.”

“You know I mean more than just that, Tommy,” Wilbur states.

Tommy sighs. “Yeah. I know.”

They fall into silence for another beat before Tommy asks, “Is it... bad?”

“Is what bad?” Wilbur says.

Tommy pulls away, just enough to look up at his brother’s face. He looks calm in a way Tommy hasn’t seen in ages, like the weight of the world is gone and nothing can hurt him.

Well. Tommy supposes that isn’t too far off.

“Is the... y’know. Afterlife. The Great Beyond. Heaven. Hell—“

“We aren’t in Hell, Tommy.”

“You’re here, we must be—“

“I would not be sent to Hell, what—“

“Oh please, yes you would!”

“Why would I be sent to Hell?”

“Because you’re a bitch, that’s why.”

“Oh be quiet—“

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over my not-a-little-bitch-ness—“

“What does that even mean!”

Tommy begins to speak but Wilbur presses his hand over his mouth. Undeterred, Tommy continues to talk.

It’s muffled and it gives Wilbur the chance to say, “To answer your original question, no, it’s not bad.”

That gets Tommy to pause. Wilbur drops his hand and waits.

“What’s it like?” Tommy then asks, feeling, for a moment, a little childish. Despite everything, being around his brother always made him feel smaller, for better or for worse. This time, when he sees Wilbur grin, he decides it’s not so bad.

Wilbur tugs him along as he stands. Hands on his shoulders, Wilbur leans, grin widening. “Why don’t I just show you?” he says quietly, like they're sharing a secret.

Tommy doesn’t hesitate to nod.

Wilbur pulls him along as they start to walk, trailing down through the emptiness.

“Fair warning,” Wilbur begins, coming to a stop. He holds out his hand and, as though turning a doorknob, twists the air in front of him. “There will be company.”

There’s a small cracking sound and then a sliver of light appears. Wilbur reaches out and curls his fingers around the edges of it, and pulls.

Opening like a door, there is a burst of light and color before them. Tommy squints and shields his eyes. But when his eyes adjust and he’s able to observe, he finds that he can’t pull his eyes away.

Sprawled out before him is a small patch of land. There are fields of wildflowers and tall grass, trees towering above it all, hills and mountains off in the distance. There is what looks like a part of the ocean not too far from there, and a proper shore meeting the grass one way and the water another. And just barely out of sight, is a little house made of birch.

Wilbur’s hand grasps his gently. Tommy forces himself to look away and to his brother.

Wilbur smiles down at him, face soft in the golden light of the sun. He looks young like this, like what he’s been through is all but a distant nightmare, old scars healed fully over and faded with time.

“Ready?” he asks, gesturing vaguely with his shoulder towards the entrance.

Tommy looks again. It looks so nice, so calm and quiet; something he never thought he wanted, let alone if he could have it in the first place.

It looks warm. Like he could lie down for a nap and never need a blanket.

Like he could rest here.

Tommy squeezes Wilbur’s hand and says, “Ready.”

Together, they step from the dark emptiness and into the light. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> tumblr: neon-air


End file.
